


The Nightmare Disorder

by SoulStrings



Category: Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Serial Killers, Mental Health Issues, Tags, Wow, um
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-11-01
Updated: 2013-11-24
Packaged: 2017-12-31 05:02:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1027530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SoulStrings/pseuds/SoulStrings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"They won’t catch him.<br/>There’s just not enough time."</p><p>Pitch is running. Town to town, down the pipes and motorways, leaving a trail of pretty dead bodies. Nobody could tell it was him before, so why did it happen here?</p><p>(first work and i'm really nervous)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Paranoia

And there was still blood on his face. Just a lick by his ear, hidden by a high collar. It was somehow satisfying.

Four. Female, five foot two.

He turned on the radio.

“—ld couple in Montana have won five million dollars in last week’s lottery—”

“—ictim, a middle-aged man named Marcus Rourke was found dead—”

“—gas prices are rising all over the country—”

“—the latest victim of the so-called Black Star Killer has been found today in the town of Burgess, Virginia. The victim was Malorie Wittman, a local woman. Police report that they have several suspects in custody. Special Agent in charge of the investigation, Nicholas North—”

He settled back into the car seat, closing his eyes.

“— _e believe we have a lead that will lead to his capture, and our best agents are already on it_ —”

He sighed.

Blah blah blah.

They won’t catch him.

There’s just not enough time.

 

He took out a bottle of wine out of his cart, putting it on the checkout counter.

“Did you hear about the killer?”

He looked up, startled. Was he being addressed or…? No. The boy behind the counter was talking to his colleague.

“Yeah. Horrible, isn’t it?”

The scanner made a beeping noise.

“That’s two killers we have now. Like, if it was New York, nobody would give a shit,”

Plastic bags rustled.

“But Burgess is tiny, c’mon.”

“I know, right?”

He took the bag, handing the boy a fifty dollar note. The boy nodded, handing him back the change.

He left.

 

The nightmares haunt him.

Every night without fail. Despised guests, invited in by his traitor of a brain.

Aah.

 

He woke when the light was licking over the horizon. The sky was tainted red by the sun. His eyesight was bleary. Where…? Car. Car. His car. Right.

He sat up straighter, shaking his head. The motion made him hiss in pain. Drank too much wine.

He sighed, looking around. The road was clear. Another day of driving. Another person – a fifth? Yes.

He bones in his neck creaked. He reached for his keys. They were right there… No, he put them on the seat next to him. Right. He reached out, turning.

Stop.

There on the window. His breath hitched and he swallowed it down. Adrenalin ran down through his chest like a lightning bolt. On the window.

The morning air has chilled the glass, weaving fern-like patterns of frost across it. There. Scratched in.

_‘I know who you are.’_


	2. Misophonia

“Room for one, please.”

The bored woman behind the counter takes his money, handing him a key.

“Room 23.”

“Thank you.”

He wanted to leave. Every instinct screamed at him to go. Now. But he needed to stay. It was small town. He would find the person eventually. He doesn’t have time for this, doesn’t have—

He’ll have less time if the police catch him.

 

‘ _You don’t have long, Mr. Black. If there’s anything you want to do, do it.’_

_‘I will.’_

 

There were footprints by his car that morning. Fresh. Couple hours at most, seeing as it snowed last night. He followed them, still bleary, watching as they led into the woods. The morning air was cold, and his breath came out is silvery puffs. It was quiet. The footprints lead the way.

He must’ve walked for five minutes or so, because the footprints stopped. They were in front of a frozen lake, he and his invisible friend. Or enemy?

They just ended. Like a ghost, gone and walking off onto the lake.

But ghosts don’t write letters. They don’t chase after killers.

His invisible was either really brave, or really, really stupid.

He went back to his car.

The handle was frozen. Or was it his hand? He looked up.

_‘I know who you are.’_

_‘fourth bar’_

You must be joking.  
He shivered and grinned.

 

The darkness reminded him of the hospital. It was a bright place, yes, full of big lamps and overhead lights, stark and white and painful. A nest of shadows, writhing in his peripheral vision as the doctor laid down the verdict.

“Would you like to order something, sir?”

He jumped, looking up at the waitress. She stared back passively, pen in hand. Long hair. Not a five, though.

“No, thank you. I’m just waiting for a friend.”

“Alright. Call if you need anything.”

She left and he sighed in relief. He was way too jumpy these days.

The shadows were still writhing.

“Hey, Kathy.”

The annoying jangling piece of metal on the door clinked.

“Jack! Good to see you! You haven’t been around at all lately.”

“Sorry, been working my ass off.”

The boy who came through the door hugged the waitress.

“How’s Sophie doing?”

“Great! She says she loves it at the uni.”

“Well, good for her. At least someone in this town will get a degree.”

The two laughed. The waitress, Kathy, Katherine, motioned to a seat at the bar.

“I see the bar’s going strong.”

“Yeah. All the tourists pouring in ‘cos of the murders. I mean, terrible reason to visit a town, but good for business.”

The boy snorted. “Gotta snatch every opportunity at a town as small as this, eh?”

“Yep. Want a drink?”

Pitch tired of watching them, eyes lingering on the boy for a few moments before they snap away. It seemed this whole thing was a ruse. Will he come back to his car surrounded by the police? He stood up, nodding at the waitress as he went. She didn’t see.

 

It’s quiet outside.

The snow fell gently.

He stoped for a minute. There were no sirens. He should go to his car.

Keys.

Keys.

Where…?

The bar. Must’ve left them at the bar. He sighed, turning back, rubbing his hands to warm them. The bar seemed more crowded than before. Some men had come in, and were now watching a game on the television. Shouting loudly, too loud. He glanced towards the bar. The pale-haired Jack boy has gone.

Keys.

Right.

He found them on the brown seat, hidden in between the two cushions. He picked them up, fumbling for the right one, and left.

 

The silence outside was deafening.

He started walking, his footsteps almost silent in the velvet snow. He looked back at his footprints, wondering where his invisible friend was.

A phone rang.

He stopped.

Ringing.

He didn’t have a phone. He left it when he ran. Went. He didn’t run. He wasn’t running. Not really.

Ringing, still.

He turned towards the sound.

A telephone booth.

A quick glance around revealed he was the only one walking on this street. A mistaken phone number, perhaps? The streetlamp above him buzzed. Writhing shadows.

He stood there, staring at the ringing phone.

It stopped.

He waited, narrowing his eyes. _One, two, three._ Nothing.

He sighed, beginning his walk again.

Ringing.

He marched over, throwing open the door with a growl. Messing with his head.

“Yes?”

“…”

“Is anyone there?”

“I know what you are.”

And then nothing. A long howl of the telephone.

His invisible friend was quite rude, hanging up on him like that.


	3. Dyspraxia

The knock on his car windows woke him.

He wrinkled his nose, blinking away the sleep.

“Sir.”

He jumped turning around.

“Sir, can you please come out of the car?”

He froze. Shit. Shit shit shit shit.

“Sir?”

“Just a moment.”

He climbed out, forcing his hackles down.

The policewoman looked him down, bringing a receiver to her mouth. “No, no heart attack. He’s fine. Call the ambulance off.”

Pitch inclined his head to appear confused. No. They weren’t here to catch him. Something else. Sleeping in his car…? What? He… bought a motel room. Why…? Safety. Must’ve felt scared. Couldn’t remember.

“Sir, I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to take your car. You can’t stop here.”

He shook his head. “Right. Yes, sorry.”

The woman nodded as he climbed back in. He drove. The sun was coming up.

 

He drank his coffee and watched the clock tick, sitting at the bar. Five six seven eight. Time was going. He’d already lost two days.

The door opened.

“Hey, Kathy.”

“Jack! You’re up early.”

“I know, right?” Jack chuckled.

Pitch finished off his coffee, sitting back to hear the rest of the conversation.

“You going anywhere tonight?”

“Nah, think I’ll just stay at home and watch TV. You seen Nightlight anywhere?”

“He’s in the back.”

“I’m gonna go check up on him. Seemed a bit off the last time.”

“Yeah, he’s been down since yesterday. Tell him his shift’s starting at 10.”

The Jack boy got up and walked away, past the place where Pitch sat. His hair was white, not just pale blonde. Actually white. His eyelashes were dark though. Not a natural colour, his hair. Pitch was watching him too closely.

Nightlight. Strange name. Alias.

There was a creeping feeling in his gut.

It matched up. Nightlight was his invisible friend, most likely. What would he do now? Kill him? The police would never catch him if he did, and the out-of-pattern body would confuse them.

But this wasn’t the plan, he needed to follow the plan.

‘Nightlight’ was interrupting his plan. He was a blip, and Pitch needed him gone.

“Hey, Kathy, you free tonight?”

Jack had come back out.

“After eight, yeah.”

“Wanna grab a few drinks before Nightlight starts his shift?”

“Sure.”

“Kay, see you at eight!”

Jack left with a wave of a hand. Kathy waved back, and the continued wiping down the glasses.

Seemed like there’ll be a murder before bedtime.

 

That evening, the bar was more crowded than before. There was a game on, and an important one at that, judging by the amount of middle-aged men hissing and cheering on cue. The speakers were on loud, and the announcer was roaring out numbers and words Pitch didn’t understand. His beer - yellow piss in a glass – had gotten warm. He didn’t even like beer.

The young trio next to him was laughing.

Nightlight had turned out to be very similar to Jack. Pitch had thought they were brothers at first – white hair and all, before his mind supplied him with the information that white hair wasn’t natural. Filling in the gaps, which only grew wider as time passed. And time was running out, it was running—

They couldn’t have been brothers, though.

Nightlight was quieter than Jack, slipping out smiles on cue, saying the bare minimum needed to keep the conversation going. His hair was longer, asymmetrical, and he carried himself with a familiar air. Familiar to Pitch.

Could he be wrong? No. He eliminated the impossible, and the only facts left were pointing to this Nightlight.

“Wait, you’re going?” said Jack.

Nightlight shook his head, pointing towards the bathroom.

“Oh, ok. Do you want another drink?”

With another shake of his head, Nightlight walked away.

Pitch counted – one, two, three, four – and followed. Jack and Katherine didn’t seem to notice.

He pushed open the heavy door, noticing the grime and the smell. Dark stains on the walls, the sinks yellowing. A puddle sat on the floor.

The bathroom stalls were empty, and he chose the second one to the end. Not daring to sit down, he took his hands out of his pockets and took off the woollen gloves, checking that the plastic ones underneath weren’t damaged. No. Nothing. Good.

There was a flush and a clang of an opening door. Pitch waited.

Then, the sound of a running tap.

Quietly, Pitch opened his own stall door. Nightlight was there, washing his hands. Quiet. Quiet. 

The boy bent down to wash his face.

Pitch moved.

He took a step forward, bringing his hands up. Quick, quick, slot them around the boy’s head. Shark jerk left, just like he’d been taught. Crack.

Nightlight went down with a gasp.

Pitch caught him quickly, just before the boy’s chin hit the sink. A quick press of his finger’s to the boy’s neck revealed the absent pulse.

He looked around for the puddle. There.

Still holding the boy, he dragged his foot through the puddle, smearing the dark water outwards.

Perfect.

He let Nightlight go, watching with a calm indifference as the boy fell onto the sink side, banging his head and falling to the floor. His sightless eyes stared back, and Pitch looked on.

 

The police car flashed blue and red, and it felt like a lightshow to an empty victory. Pitch sat on the steps of the bar, wrapped in a pink blanket. They said it was for shock.

“I-I don’t know how this could have happened,” Katherine was blubbering. “I mean, he was just going to go to the toilet and he said he was coming back out and then this happened and oh my God—”

“I know it’s a shock, miss.” The Policewoman said, patting the crying girl on the shoulder. “I’m sorry.”

The girl looked around, a worried look on her face. “W-where- Did you see my friend anywhere?”

“The boy?” The policewoman turned around. “He went… he left when he heard about it.”

“Oh no!” the girl cried. “Oh God, I need to find him, I need to—”

“Miss, it’s better if you stay here and calm down.”

“No, you don’t understand! He- he and Nightlight- they were—”

“I’m sure he’ll be fine, miss. You’re in no state to go anywhere, stay here, OK?”

The girl nodded weakly, walking off to sit on a nearby bench.  
Pitch stood up, putting down the blanket. He nodded to the policewoman and began walking away.

“Wait!” Katherine stood up, chasing after him. Pitch stopped. “You- you were there, with him, weren’t you?”  
He didn’t reply.

“I- maybe- could you come and we can have coffee and maybe talk about him.”

“As I told the police, it was sudden. He didn’t say anything.” Pitch said.

“I know, it’s just- please. Eight o’clock, tomorrow, here. Drinks on me.”

Pitch waited, but then nodded and turned back around.

He heard the police cars starting as he walked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Righty-o  
> if this is going to be a serious thing, i need to write down ideas because my head if full of them
> 
> i mightn't post for a while because i'm on a huge DW marathon before the Day of the Doctor and i really need to finish season 6 and 7


	4. Bibliomania

The man was stately and tall, greying hair tied back in a ponytail. Stars and stripes rested on his chest, and the visible flick of a tattoo ran up his neck. He stood like an awkward thumb in the doorway of the office. Behind him, the usual mayhem of police station on a Thursday afternoon went on. He closed the door behind himself, muting out the ringing phones and droning chatter.  
“Hello.” he said simply.  
North looked him up and down, nodding. “You the man from the army?”  
“We were informed that your main suspect is from the military.”  
Anna leaned in, “Well, he isn’t right now since he’s off killing people.”  
The man blinked. “Yes.”  
North narrowed his eyes at Anna. The woman shrugged and went back to work. North turned back to ask the man another question.  
“Actually, it’s not confirmed he’s from the military,” Anna interrupted. “He most likely is, but it’s not a fact.”  
North barrelled on. “Which department sent you?”  
“The army.”  
North rubbed the bridge of his nose, “Ah yes, dammit.” He motioned to a chair. “Well, sit down. What’s your name?”  
The man sat down, straightening his tie. “Bunnmund, Mr North. Eric Aster Bunnmund.”  
Anna giggled at her computer screen. “Ooh, going James Bond on us already?”  
“Well, you here with any specific purpose?” North said.  
“I am to assist in this investigation as it deals with a member—”  
“Supposed member.” Anna interrupted.  
“— supposed member of the army.”  
“Well, then, welcome to the investigation, Mr Bunnmund.” North said, resting a hand on his chest. “I’m Nicholas North – please call me North – and this young lady—”  
“I’m 25.”  
“—is Ms Anna Deuphy.”  
And for the first time since they met, Eric Aster’s solemn expression broke. “What, like the Tooth Fairy?”  
“Pardon?”  
Eric Aster hastened to correct himself. “My mother always said the Tooth Fairy was called Deuphy.” He shrugged. “Thought, maybe she said Toothy and I misheard.”  
North stared at Eric Aster for a while, while Anna simply blinked. North let out a giggle. Anna slapped him on the shoulder, “Hey!”  
North grinned. “I remember when Anna was a kid; they used to call her Toothy. Wondered why.”  
Eric Aster smiled.   
Anna sniffed. “And I’d prefer if that name was left in the past.”  
North got up to get a large paper file, putting it down in front of the other man. “Well, Mr Bunnmund, get yourself educated. Everything’s here.”  
“Thank you,” he said. “Please, call me Aster.”  
North nodded, before turning back to his forgotten paperwork.

Two hours passed in a comfortable silence before any of them spoke a word. North was the first to break the silence.   
“Anyone want to go get dinner?”  
Anna waved from her computer screen, “No, I’m good.”  
North turned to Aster. “And yourself?”  
“I ate, before.”  
North sighed. “Well, I’m going to leave you busy bugs alone and go get myself some food.” With a wag of his eyebrows, he walked out the door.  
His absence left a silent space. There was a quiet shuffling of papers.  
“So, you Australian?”   
Aster looked up. “Pardon?”  
“Are you Australian?”  
“Yes. Cairns, Queensland.” he said. “How did you know?”  
“You say ‘army’ like ‘ourmie’.” said Anna. “And you’re kind of like a rabbit.”  
“I… what?”  
“A rabbit.”  
“Oh-kay…”  
Aster flipped over a page, frowning slightly.  
“North, he’s Russian.” Anna said. “My mother was Asian, my dad was Indian.”  
Aster nodded slowly. “My ma’s English, actually. I was born on Easter Island, moved when I was 5.”  
“Told you. Rabbit.”

“What have we got?”  
Anna sighed, leaning back in her chair. The room was small and quiet. Aster had left an hour ago, when the clock ticked past the tenth digit. Her laptop glowed in front of her.  
“He’s moving every day or so along a random motorway of his choosing, so that pattern’s still there. See the victim’s wounds?” She pointed to a picture. “Same as the last one. Sharp, precise shots. The same  
Star pattern on their foreheads. Definitely military.” She pointed again. Another image came onto the screen. “Quick, quiet, but brutal. It’s not anger or hatred, it’s just… disgust. He feels disgust for his victims.”  
North nodded, and then turned to her. “So… where does that leave us?”  
Anna smiled, folding her arms. “Remember his moving-about pattern?”  
“Yes?”  
“He moves very often. Never stays in the same place for longer than 48 hours. Every time he moves, there’s a new body.”  
“So?”  
“So,” she said, getting up and quickly typing. “Look.”  
“A newspage.”  
“The same news agency that reports every single one of his kills.”  
“Yes?”  
“Look.” She said, pointing more urgently. “Nothing.”  
North frowned, leaning in. “There’s… no new report?”  
Anna grinned. “Yes! Do you know what that means?”  
She leaned in very close, grinning conspiratorially. “He hasn’t moved yet. He’s still here.”

**Author's Note:**

> Uh wow first work yay! :D
> 
> is it ok? How is it going? Should i do more? Is it too short?? D:


End file.
